


Skin Deep

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Disaster dates, F/M, Flashpoint AU, Killervibe Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-01-16 03:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: Somehow, Cisco Ramon, the richest man in America, wants a date with Caitlin Snow, humble pediatric ophthalmologist. She's not really sure why.Written for Killervibe Week 2019, only a couple of months late.





	1. Chapter 1

Caitlin flicked through her closet with a vague sense of doom. What _did_ you wear to a date with the richest man in America, when you were a pediatric opthamologist who had yet to pay off all her school loans?

She tugged out a dress she'd worn for her best friend's wedding. It was probably the most expensive thing she owned, and Eliza had actually found a style that was universally flattering. But it looked like what it was - a bridesmaid's dress, meant to match other women, not stand out. She put it back.

Not for the first time, she wondered if this was some kind of prank.

Yes, of course, she'd  _ met _ Cisco Ramon. But the whole experience, from getting kidnapped by a speedster to tending another speedster to being part of a team saving the city, had felt like a weird fever dream. Working with the head of Ramon Industries felt like just another part of that fever dream. When he'd called two days ago to ask her out to dinner, she'd almost hung up on him. 

Why had he called her? Surely Cisco Ramon had his pick of dates.

Maybe it was a prank. 

She called Eliza. "Help," she said plaintively when her friend picked up.

"Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for your hot date?"

"It's  _ hopeless. _ Everything I own is hopeless. He's going to take one look at me and tell me to leave, because I'm clearly nowhere near his usual caliber of date."

"Oh my god,  _ stop.  _ Even Cisco Ramon is lucky as hell to get a date with you."

Caitlin smiled a little. It was a lie, but it was a sweet one.

"What about your black beaded dress?" Eliza continued. "The one you found on sale?"

"What? I've never worn that."

"But you look amazing in it."

"Yes, but - " It was so tight. And short. And - and sparkly.

Caitlin Snow wasn't a sparkly sort of person. 

"You can't just leave it in your closet and touch the beading every so often and think about whatever perfect, ideal event you can wear it to when you get up the courage, and never wear it."

Caitlin flopped down on the end of her bed. "Shut up," she said grumpily. "You don't know me."

"Just since the sixth grade. Wear that. Be sparkly. Drink champagne, eat caviar, flirt with a stupidly rich man who called  _ you _ , by the way, and tell me everything tomorrow."

"How do you know there'll be champagne and caviar?"

"What else could there be possibly be?"

* * *

Eliza was right. There was champagne, and caviar, all set out on the table on beautiful dishes, with a centerpiece of perfect, vibrant, out-of-season tulips. Her favorite, although that had to be a coincidence because how would he know?

Unfortunately, she was sipping champagne and nibbling caviar alone. 

And actually caviar was kind of gross. 

She set the half-eaten cracker down and took her champagne glass over to the giant window that stretched floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall. Central City lay before her, twinkling softly in the dusk as lights flicked on here and there. 

"Hell of a view, isn't it?"

She whipped around a little too fast to find Cisco Ramon standing in the doorway, handsome and sleek in his Italian suit and square-framed glasses. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, strolling in and nabbing the second flute, standing empty on the table. He poured himself some champagne and came to join her. "I was on the phone with Tokyo, and, well, you know how it is."

He didn't  _ sound _ very sorry, Caitlin thought, and scolded herself. She managed a smile. "Of course."

There was an intercom set in the wall with a little array of buttons. Cisco pushed one and said, “I’m at dinner. I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Yes, sir,” said the intercom, and Cisco stepped away. 

He turned to her. "You look amazing, by the way."

"Thanks," she said. "It's - I've never worn it before." She flicked at the beads dancing at her hemline. "It's really, it's kind of sparkly for me."

He looked confused, as if that wasn't her line. "Well . . . sparkly is . . . uh, good on you."

"Thanks," she mumbled into her champagne.

They stared out at the city for a minute or two. Caitlin wondered if he was counting up how many blocks he owned. Maybe he'd lost track and didn't even know himself.

She thought of a topic and blurted it out. "Have you heard from Iris? How's her brother doing?"

"Ugh," Cisco said, rolling his eyes. "No, thank god, and may they stay away. That whole episode was so annoying. It threw off my whole damn week."

"I guess it was kind of inconvenient," she said. "I had to reschedule some of my appointments and - " 

She'd missed her shift with Vision to Learn, the volunteer organization that did vision screenings and glasses for low-income kids. They'd had to scramble for a replacement on the bus that day. She’d regretted that; she loved working on the bus. 

"Inconvenient, exactly!" he said before she could get into that. "My time is at a premium and they just come strolling in like they own me."

"But didn't you think it was exciting, too? I thought it was exciting."

His voice dropped. "Well, clearly I'm going to have to show you what excitement really means."

She felt herself blush, and stared fixedly out the window again.

"So," he said after another thirty seconds had dragged by. "You like the view?"

"Do you ever get dizzy?" she asked.

He blinked. "Do I - what?"

"Get dizzy. Being up this high?"

He shrugged. "No? Are you dizzy?"

She risked another glance. "Not yet." She stepped away from the window. 

He turned with her. "Did you get some caviar?"

"Yes," she said. "But I don't want to fill up before dinner. Thank you. It was . . . interesting."

"It's Beluga," he said, gently spooning some onto a cracker.

She thought of a song that they'd often played in the daycare where she'd worked during college.  _ Baby Beluga in the deep blue sea - _

She was pretty sure Raffi hadn't been singing about caviar. 

"Oh," she said brightly, since she was also pretty sure she was supposed to be impressed.

He bit into the cracker and silence fell between them. She sipped champagne in order to have something to do. 

She was so bad at this. She spent so much of her life either talking to other medical professionals, or talking to children. She didn't think Cisco Ramon, of all people, was up for hearing about the interesting journal article she'd read on the woman with twenty-four antiquated contacts stuck under her eyelid, or who was the cutest Pokemon.

(As a former Horse Girl, she had to stan for Rapidash.)

Normal first-date conversation was  _ where did you grow up, do you have any brothers or sisters, what do you do.  _ But that was all a matter of public record with Cisco Ramon. He had a Wikipedia page, for god's sake. It felt strange and disingenuous to ask such basic questions, even though she hadn't read it.

"So," she said. "Did you do anything interesting today?"

He shrugged. "The same as every day. Meetings, phone calls . . . running an empire, you know?" He ran his fingers over the back of her wrist and dropped his voice. "Looked forward to dinner, though."

Her skin buzzed. "Are we going somewhere?"

"We're having it here," he said. "More exclusive, right?"

"Uh . . . sure."

As if his words had summoned them, a door opened on the far side of the room and a waiter in a tuxedo came through, bearing a tray. He was so quiet and smooth that Caitlin doubted she would have even noticed he was here if they'd been deep in conversation. 

As it was, they both watched him set up, the soft music of cutlery and plates and glassware a soundtrack to the creation of dinner. 

It smelled really good. Her stomach rumbled, and Caitlin pressed her hand to it in embarrassment. She'd skipped her lunch because she'd had a last-minute appointment. 

Maybe she shouldn't have drunk half a flute of champagne on an empty stomach. 

When the waiter had finished his dance, he stepped aside and gave them a little bow. 

"Shall we?" Cisco asked.

"Sure.”

There was a little scuffle as Caitlin tried to sit down and the waiter tried to help her sit down. She ended up seated, but flushed and flustered. She gave the waiter an embarrassed smile. He looked as cool and unruffled as if this happened to him all the time, and set about whisking away the covers on the first set of plates.

It was a delicious looking salad, glossy green spinach in a fan shape that cradled brightly-colored vegetables cut like tiny flowers. It looked like a peacock's tail, and after a moment, she remembered where she'd seen it before. "This looks like a dinner I had at Le Maison a few months ago.”

Her friends had chipped in to take her out for her birthday, and even though she'd protested that it was too expensive and they shouldn't have, Eliza had just said,  _ You only turn thirty once,  _ and gestured for more wine.

He glanced at the plate. "Oh, you're right, it is Le Maison."

She blinked. "I didn't realize they did takeout."

The waiter let out a tiny, astonished cough, and Caitlin looked up. "Are you okay?"

"Quite, madam," he said, and dissolved back in the direction of the kitchen. 

"Of course they don't," Cisco said. "But they've lent me a waiter and a chef for the evening." 

She froze, her cheeks heating. Had she just implied that the most exclusive restaurant in Central City would do takeout like Applebee's?

And had he just told her he'd hired two entire people out of said restaurant for the whole evening, just for this dinner?

She pushed her champagne flute a little farther away. 

"You're not eating," he said.

"Um," she said. "It does look good." She nudged a red bell pepper flower with her fork. It had felt like a crime to eat the beautiful food last time, too.

"Would it taste better this way?" he asked in a seductive voice, holding out his fork with a couple of greens, a floral radish, and a pine nut.

"No, thank you," she said. "I'm allergic to pine nuts."

"Oh," he said, taking his fork back. "Sorry about that."

She looked down at her salad. "Mine doesn't have any," she said slowly. It had almonds instead, razor-thin flakes, white as bone. She remembered that Le Maison had done the same thing for her at her birthday dinner.

"No, of course not."

She looked up again. "Why doesn't my salad have pine nuts? You didn't know I was allergic."

"My PA does his research," Cisco said.

"Your PA," she said.

"Personal assistant?"

"I know what a PA is. Why did he research me?"

"Personal assistant," he said again. "He does whatever I need him to do, including finding out what you might like for dinner."

She remembered then that she'd put a picture of her dinner at Le Maison on Instagram, with the hashtags #holdthepinenuts and #allergylife. The knowledge that Cisco's employee had perused a silly social media account far enough back to order the same meal put something sour and squirmy in her stomach. "Well," she said, her voice distant and echoing in her ears. "That must have been a lot of work for him."

"Oh, don't worry. He does it all the time."

"All the time?" The squirmy feeling in her stomach grew. "Is this usually what you do for a first date?" 

"Generally. Yes."

"All this? The champagne, the caviar, the dinner? The car that picked me up? The tulips?"

"No," he said. "The dinner and the flowers were tailored to your tastes. I like to make my companions feel special."

"In the exact same way every time."

He frowned momentarily. "Why are we talking about my other dates? I'm here with you."

Her voice came out shrill. "Are you, though?"

He shook his head. "What does that mean?" 

She took a breath, trying to calm herself down. So he'd instructed his PA to go the extra mile. That was nice, wasn't it? He could have ordered her a salad with pine nuts and put out generic red roses.

No, he could have had his staff do all that.

She was an idiot to feel even angrier at the thought.

She looked across the table at him, sitting there eating his salad that most people had to make a reservation to eat, a month in advance. In his perfectly tailored suit. In his penthouse with its plush carpet, murmuring music, and perfect lighting. Looking out over the city he owned so much of.

He'd been on the phone with Tokyo earlier. Then he'd hung up the phone and come here into this room, and she'd been waiting, his companion for the evening, next to champagne and caviar and the server who just needed his cue to start setting up his dinner. 

All these things he wanted, so easy to get that he barely noticed getting them. 

Well, fine, she'd be an idiot then. "Why did you even ask me out?"

He looked up at her then, his eyes suddenly sharp behind those glasses. For a moment, she felt like something was going to break through the glossy surface. Then he smiled, and the gloss smoothed over him again, bullet proof. "You're a beautiful woman. I enjoy beautiful company."

She waited. "That's it?"

He shrugged. "Does there need to be more?"

She probably should have given a chiming, trilling laugh and thanked him for the compliment. Just like she should have known how to eat caviar or let the waiter seat her or said something flattering or flirty by now.

She felt like an actress who hadn't learned her lines and hadn't known she was cast in a play until she'd showed up at the theater.

She swallowed hard and scooted her chair back. "If my only qualification for being invited here was that I'm beautiful, then thank you, but I think I should go home."

"What? What's the problem? Come on. You haven't touched anything. Please sit down."

She backed a step away. "It's fine, I'm not hungry." Her stomach rumbled again. 

“Sounds like you are. Caitlin." He leaned forward a little and looked into her eyes. She looked away. "Whatever’s wrong, it can be fixed. Should we move somewhere else? Did you want more champagne? I can have the waiter bring out the main course if you’re not interested in the salad.”

She shook her head over and over again. “I'm - I - This is just a lot for me. I’m not used to first dates like this. I mean, I usually meet a guy for coffee, not a private dinner for two in his penthouse. I want to go home.”

"Is this about the pine nuts? I said I was sorry, I didn't know you were allergic."

"No, you didn't, but someone did!"

He stopped looking conciliatory and started looking annoyed. "Am I now supposed to apologize that my PA is good at his job? Would you prefer to have gone into anaphylactic shock over the salad?"

"It's not an allergy like that!" she cried, aware that she was being shrill again, not caring enough to stop herself. "I don't pass out, I just get a little wheezy and break out in hives and have to take Benadryl that makes me feel drunk until I take a nap." She looked around. Her wrap and her clutch had been whisked off somewhere. Did she dare start opening doors until she found a coat closet? She continued ranting, "It's not life-threatening, it's inconvenient. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"About a mild food allergy?"

"About inconvenience. Everything's easy for you. Everything's just here when you want it. The moment you even think of it. Wine and cars and beautiful company, all here just for you, the great Cisco Ramon. You're in this - this bubble of your own wealth and everything bounces off the edges. You had the chance to help save the city and you were  _ annoyed _ about it. I bet when Zoom invaded last year, you just got pissed off because it impacted your stock prices!"

Suddenly she knew she’d gone too far.

He got to his feet, bright fury burning in his eyes. "My brother  _ died _ that week."

Cold washed over her, spreading up her spine and down into her stomach. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

“I was interviewed by Barbara Walters about it. And the Daily Show.”

“I didn't see them.” Although she hadn’t been even close to one of his victims, Zoom had inspired an inexplicable, animal terror in her. She'd spent the week he'd been at large staying offline and avoiding news coverage. With every glimpse of his distorted, demonic mask, she had to spend an hour wrapped in her weighted blanket, breathing through waves of panic that she couldn't explain. 

She’d gotten better in the months since, but she still didn't seek out information about his rampage.

"It's on my fucking Wikipedia page," Cisco said.

"I didn't read it. It seemed - " She flailed for the right word. "- intrusive."

"Is that another dig at me and the way my PA spent half an hour of his afternoon?"

"It's not a dig," she said. "I - I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it. I'm sorry to - to remind you of something so - " She blinked the burn of tears out of her eyes. She refused to cry right now. It wouldn't do either of them any good. "Can you please ask someone to bring me my purse so I can call a cab?"

"My driver will take you home," he said, hitting a button on the intercom. "Ralph? Bring the car around. Dr. Snow will meet you downstairs in a few minutes."

"He doesn't need to do that," she said.

"It's literally his job," Cisco said, and pushed another button. "Amy? Can you bring Dr. Snow her things? She isn't feeling well and would like to go home."

Once he got an affirmative reply, he let go of the intercom button and sat down to eat his salad again, taking measured bites and sipping champagne after every third one. His eyes were still hard and cold. 

She stood uncertainly in the middle of the floor until Amy came with her sheer black wrap and pretty little beaded clutch, both of them bought to go with the dress for more money than she could strictly afford. 

If Amy felt the tension in the room - and Caitlin didn't know how she couldn't, it was like moving through cement - she didn't let on. She simply handed Caitlin’s things over and went to stand by the door like she was planning to escort her down the elevator and out onto the street. Probably she was.

"Thank you for the invitation," Caitlin said. "I'm - I'm sorry I wasn't - I'm sorry it turned out like this."

He looked at her then, still angry enough that it blazed out three feet around him. But there was a glint of hurt and confusion in the center of his eyes. "Why did you say yes?"

And even though she'd been trying to leave on a conciliatory note, the question just made her angry again. "Because I thought you wanted to have dinner with me," she said. “I didn't know I was supposed to be just another beautiful accessory." She tugged the wrap around her shoulders. "Good night."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only six months later! Woo! This story gave me _fits_ because they kept talking in circles. There's probably still some of that, but it's dooooooooooone.

She called Eliza on the way home and spilled the whole gory tale. "Go ahead and laugh," she said morosely.

"I'm not laughing."

"I am," her husband yelled in the background. “This shit’s hilarious. Did Caitlin really get pissy with Cisco Ramon for trying to treat her like a princess?”

"Shut up, babe," Eliza said. "Okay, I’m going in the bathroom so the idiot I married can’t hear."

"I love you toooooooo," the idiot yodeled, and a door slammed. 

Eliza huffed. "Okay. Now explain to me exactly what the problem was."

Caitlin slouched into the buttery leather of the back seat. "I didn't even really know what I was feeling until I was yelling at him."

"Had that experience, for sure," Eliza said.

"Basically I - " She dropped her head on the back of the seat and stared up at the ceiling of the car. "I felt like a convenience. I turned myself inside out getting ready for tonight and then I got there and it was like he'd snapped his fingers and called me up to be his date for the evening. Just the same way he snapped his fingers and got Le Maison to bring a whole dinner just for him, or he got all the equipment we needed to rescue that poor speedster who was sick. His life is so smooth and everything is just there when he wants it, including someone to play the role of his dinner companion."

“Well, it’s not smooth right now,” Eliza observed.

“Oh, no, I'm sure he called some nicer, classier woman as I was walking out and they’re eating that amazing filet mignon right now.” She let out a muffled wail. "And I may still be a little drunk and I'm so  _ hungry. _ I'm going to have to get a pizza or something."

"Miss?"

She looked up to see the driver looking over his shoulder. He had a pointy, pleasant face under his cap. 

"I'm sorry, miss," he said. "I couldn't help but overhear. Would you like me to call ahead somewhere and order you some food? We can do pickup or delivery."

"No!" she almost yelped. "No, I want to order a pizza myself on the app, hope my phone put it through, and then eat peanut butter off the spoon while I wait because I'm that hungry. Then after I scrounge up enough money to tip the poor delivery person who's probably just trying to put themselves through school, I'll eat it right out of the box in front of the TV with some three-dollar wine. Because that's what normal people do."

The driver blinked once or twice and turned back to the road. "Very good, miss." 

In her ear, Eliza said, "Honey, I say this with love. You're a disaster."

"I know," she moaned. 

"But it's a valid point. He did kind of treat you like he ordered you up along with your dinner."

"Weren't you the one telling me to enjoy this?"

"Because I thought you would. You deserve to be pampered and special and adored. I'm sorry you felt like a generic dinner date."

She curled her toes inside her high heels, gazing at them mournfully. They were the nicest ones she owned and they hurt like hell. "I did like him," she said. "Not just because he was Cisco Ramon and I've seen him on TV and everything. When we met before, I felt like I knew him. Like somehow in a past life? I don't know." She sighed and rested her head back against the headrest. "I guess I was wrong."

* * *

She got her pizza and her wine and overloaded on both until she felt sick. She spent most of Saturday slouching around her apartment, hungover, gnawing on leftover pizza when she got peckish. Sunday was a little better, but the funk of her first and last date with Cisco Ramon hadn’t cleared by Monday. She was so out of it that her receptionist had to knock twice on her open door to get her attention. 

"Dr. Snow? It's six-thirty."

She looked up. "It is?” She rubbed her temples. “Okay, go ahead and clock out. I just need to finish this paperwork really quickly. I can lock up behind me."

"Yes,” Maryam said hesitantly, “but there's someone in the waiting room."

"A walk-in?" 

"No, he said he's waiting for you. A guy. No kid with him, just a guy.”

“That’s weird,” Caitlin said slowly. 

“I know, and when I asked if I could help him, he said he was a friend of yours and I asked if I could get his name and he said no and just sort of smiled.” She fussed with the embroidery at the edge of her head scarf. “Do you want me to stick around?"

“Let me go see who it is.” 

She walked with Maryam down the hall and they both peered around the corner. 

The man was crouched by the wooden activity cube that all the toddlers adored, pushing the painted beads around their wire tracks. He wore a soft-looking t-shirt in bright green, jeans that had seen better days, and sneakers that sparkled white on the soles. His hair fell sleek and shiny around his shoulders, hiding his face.

Caitlin started to shake her head - no, she didn't know him, she had no idea who that was - and then he tucked his hair behind his ear. She caught a glimpse of his profile, the cut of his mouth and the angle of his nose. She caught her breath.

Maryam looked at her questioningly. 

"Yes," Caitlin said. "I know him, he's a - I know him. Go ahead and go. I'll lock up."

"If you're sure," Maryam said, but headed for the back door, grabbing her purse and coat on the way. "See you tomorrow, Doctor."

"See you tomorrow," she said absently.

She walked out through the waiting room, behind him. If he heard her footsteps, he didn't let on, now peering at something else on the activity cube. She locked the front door, flipped the "open" sign around, and came back until she stood a little behind him. She licked her dry lips with her equally dry tongue and said, "Cisco?"

It wouldn't occur to her later that she'd used his first name and not the  _ Mr. _ Ramon he'd insisted on when they'd first met.

He looked over his shoulder, then clambered to his feet. The t-shirt was revealed to have a very faded Star Wars design on the front. "Wow. You saw right through my cunning disguise."

"You - " She stared at the graphic tee, the torn jeans, sneakers. The loose hair. Most of all - "You're not wearing your glasses."

His black-framed glasses were iconic. He almost wasn't Cisco Ramon without them.

"Contacts," he said, pointing to his eyes. "Sometimes I need them."

She frowned. "Why are you here? And why are you dressed like that?"

"There's a Jitters down the street. I came to see if you wanted to go for coffee."

She stared at him. "Okay," she said. "Okay. This is definitely a prank. I don't know where your cameramen are hidden, but please tell them to turn off their cameras, leave my office, and go home."

He scowled at her. "Have you ever known me to partake in stupid pranks? And that would be a  _ stupid  _ prank."

Strangely, the scowl reassured her. It was the same vaguely insulted one he'd worn off and on throughout their adventure with the Flash. "Then why are you here? And don't say to get coffee."

The scowl faded, and a new expression crossed his face. It took her several moments to recognize it as uncertainty, because it looked so out of place there. "Because of what you said on Friday night."

Her mouth fell open. "I was rude," she said. "And mean. And ungrateful. And - and  _ rude." _

"But you were also right," he said. "Which I figured out after I stopped being pissed off." 

She felt herself blush. 

"And, uh, after my driver gave me an earful."

"He  _ told _ on me?"

"He wanted to make sure I knew how much I'd screwed up. And yeah, I screwed up."

She hugged her elbows. "Sometimes dates don't work out. It's nobody's fault, it's just a mismatch of - "

"Hey," he said. "Let me cop to my part of that disaster, would you?"

She closed her mouth, feeling her cheeks heat. Because he was right - he'd been partly to blame for how poorly that night had gone.

But only part.

"I really did want to have dinner with you, specifically. But I - " He looked away and fiddled with a bead on the activity cube. It escaped his fingers and went rattling down the slope of its wire track. He studied it hard, as if it held the secrets to the universe. "But I was lazy. Defaulted to my usual routine. Because that's usually what people want from me, you know. The champagne and caviar and the flowers."

"They were nice," Caitlin said. "I mean, I have nothing against champagne and flowers."

He looked around and crooked a brow at her. "And caviar?"

"It's actually kind of gross."

"Really? You don't like it?"

She shook her head and made a face. He laughed, and she thought,  _ Oh, _ because his laugh was full and warm and not mocking at all. Not the kind of laugh she would have expected from the man she'd almost had dinner with on Friday night.

"Okay," he said. "More for me." He took a breath. "But anyway my point is I just got used to - heh. Getting results, with the whole routine that you got."

She looked at him sternly. 

He rolled his eyes. "As in, someone had a nice time with me and wanted to see me again," he said. "I don't mean sex." He paused. "I don't  _ only _ mean sex." He shot her a sly look.

She blushed, warmth unfolding in her stomach.

"I really do want my dates to have a nice time and feel special. It's just that over the years it got to be easier to get Hartley to work on it instead." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm an engineer, did you know that?"

"MIT," she said. "The first Tess Morgan Foundation scholar, just sixteen when you started. Simultaneous bachelor's and Master's degrees, graduated at age nineteen and started Ramon Industries six months later."

He raised his brows. 

"I, um, I may have read your Wikipedia page yesterday."

His mouth quirked up at the corner. "May have? Okay." He rubbed his eyes a little. "Anyway, the problem with engineers is that unless they're careful, they start thinking about everything like it's a machine. Including people, and dates and . . . Consistent input gets consistent results, you know? Unless someone smacks me in the face and informs me that having Hartley stalk your Instagram wasn't the same thing as figuring out myself what might make you feel special."

"It is public," she mumbled. "And I've had first dates too. It's more than some men would do."

"I'm not some men," he said in that jaw-droppingly arrogant way of his. "But you're the first person who's ever called me on that stuff. And I'm sorry."

She studied him just long enough for him to shift uneasily. "You're forgiven," she said. "And I'm sorry that I was rude and I - I said what I did about Zoom."

"I am in a bubble," he said. "If I hadn't lost Dante, I might have just been annoyed that my stock prices were impacted."

"So you came to tell me all that?"

"I came because I want a do-over."

Her heart thumped hard against her chest. "Really?" she said. "I mean, it's not as if you have a hard time finding dates, you said it yourself."

"Look, I didn't ask you out because you're a beautiful woman. I mean, you are. But it was douchey of me to imply that was the only reason. When that stringbean speedster kidnapped you and brought you in to help us, I felt like . . . we clicked. Like I knew you, somehow, already."

"Me too," she whispered.

"So I wanted to see what that was all about. I still do. And you constantly surprise me. It's not easy to keep me on my toes, mentally. I like people who can do that."

"And you have a very healthy ego," she said.

"Yes I do, even when you're poking holes in it," he said calmly. "So? Are you going to come to Jitters and have a damn coffee with me, or what?"

She stood looking at him, taking in the Star Wars shirt and the loose hair and his eyes, unobscured by glasses. Thinking of her pretty, sparkly, expensive dress and wrap and clutch and shoes the night before.

"So," she said. "Is this . . . you, then?"

"Huh?"

She gestured. "This? This guy? This outfit and hair and - is this you?"

"What does that mean?"

"The other night, I dressed up in the costume I thought you wanted. That sparkly woman, that wasn't me, that was just what seemed to fit. And we both know how that turned out. So - so if you're dressing up now in the costume you think I want, then coffee isn't going to go any better than a catered dinner in your penthouse did."

He stared at her, head cocked. "You aren't going to make this easy, are you?" he said. "Yes. This is me. And that was me. Both are me. I contain multitudes and all that shit."

She crossed her arms, not wholly convinced. 

"Okay, look. This - " He waved at himself. "This is what I wore when I made my first million. So yeah, it's still in my closet. But during my second million, I figured out that people take you more seriously when you're in an Italian suit. And you know what? Italian suits are pretty damn comfortable, when they're tailored right. That's sort of the point of tailoring. And I have a driver and a PA because I'm busy. And I  _ like _ my penthouse."

"You don't have to defend yourself to me," she said. 

"Kind of feels like I do." He crossed his arms too. "What was your problem with the Italian suit and the penthouse, anyway?"

She dropped her gaze. "I - I didn't belong there. With you."

"Yes, you did," he said immediately.

"I didn't! I felt like I was playing a role - "

"With the sparkly dress and stuff? You looked amazing." He narrowed his eyes at her. "But you didn't  _ feel _ amazing. Is that what you're saying?"

"I felt fake," she said. "I felt like I was trying to fool you. And I don't think you're easily fooled."

"Not easily, no," he said. He reached over and fiddled with the beads on the wooden track again. "I can do this," he said distantly. "I can put on this part of myself if it's what makes you feel most comfortable."

She rubbed her sweaty hands down her skirt. "You're Cisco Ramon, though," she said. "Like you keep saying, you're more than this. You go to the opera and charity galas and things. You should be with someone who - who knows how to do that." 

"Did I  _ ask _ you to go to a fucking charity gala? All I want is coffee, and a chance." He waved his hand at her. "I like  _ this _ woman, sparkly dress or not. I like you. Even though you're being a complete pain in the ass right now."

She crossed her arms again. "Don't swear at me."

"See?" He pointed his finger at her. "That! I like that. God knows why."

"Because nobody does it."

"Right. Which is why I want to get coffee with you, to see if I still like it when I'm done with my goddamn latte. So." He crossed his arms, too. "Are we going to get coffee or what?"

She chewed her lip for a moment, feeling insecurities that had locked into place before she hit double digits rise up in her throat. Nerdy, weird little Caitlin thought she could date this man? Rich, brilliant, confident . . . what was she thinking?

But then she remembered how it had felt the first time she'd seen him. Like she already knew him. And he'd said almost the same, that there was a click.

That was special. That didn't happen every day. And even if it was Cisco Ramon, shouldn't she investigate it?

"Okay," she said. "I'll go get coffee with you."

He let out his breath. "Finally. You know, I've put together billion-dollar mergers that were less difficult than this."

"Billion-dollar mergers are just about money. Hearts are more important to me."

"There are people who say I don't have a heart."

"They're wrong," she said. "Nobody who got as angry as you did on Friday night could be heartless."

He opened his mouth, didn't say anything, and closed it again, looking thoughtful.

She said, "I have to get my purse and lock up, but I'll be right there, okay?"

"Cool," he said, smiling. It was a real smile, showing off his slightly buck teeth, not the careful, practiced one as if he had consulted with a publicist on the proper expression for the camera.

With a feeling of unreality, she shut down her computer, got her things, and shut off the lights behind her. He was still in the waiting room, guiding a little wooden peg through a path on the side of the activity cube.

"I should get one of these for my office," he said, plunking it to the finish line. "Great for getting the brain to work."

"It is designed for toddlers," she said, letting him out through the front door and locking it behind them again. "It might not go with the great Cisco Ramon image."

He shrugged. "So? Nice thing about being this rich is I can do whatever the fuck I want." He grinned at her, and she smiled back.

After a short conference with the driver, who gave Caitlin an approving look but tried very hard to argue that they should ride a block and a half in the town car, they set off down the street. Caitlin was surprised at how good his disguise was. He got a few second glances from passersby, but not ones that said,  _ Oh my god is that THE Cisco Ramon?! _ Instead, they were admiring glances for an attractive man, and a few envious ones flung at her.

Envious. 

Of her.

They made small talk about the neighborhood, and her practice, and she cautiously told a couple of stories about her patients, including one about the child who'd nearly melted down over having accidentally left his Pikachu glasses case in the office. 

He smiled at the end of the story, where she'd stayed an extra hour so his dads could come pick up the glasses case. "Pikachu's all right, but I prefer Bulbasaur."

"What?"

"Best Pokemon. Bulbasaur."

She stared at him, then broke out in a delighted grin. "I mean, you're wrong, obviously Rapidash is the best, but I just love that you have an opinion."

They bickered happily over that topic all the way to Jitters, where she had to remind him to wait in line and not walk directly up to the counter. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Right. Forgot for a moment there."

"This is how the other half lives," she said. "The non-sparkly, non-limo, non-penthouse types."

He studied the menu board. "I know you don't believe it," he said. "But personally, I think you can be that woman you were pretending to be on Friday night.."

She eyed him with skepticism. "The sparkly one?"

"Yeah. The gorgeous, smart, confidant, sexy one." He took her hand. His was warm and firm and felt completely right wrapped around hers. "But I'm willing to wait until you believe it too."

FINIS


End file.
